


First Christmas

by Shannon_Kind



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Christmas, Domestic, Established Castiel/Dean Winchester, Fluff, M/M, Marriage Proposal, alcohol (not abused), mild second-hand embarassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-01
Updated: 2016-12-01
Packaged: 2018-09-03 11:19:53
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 4,812
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8710522
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shannon_Kind/pseuds/Shannon_Kind
Summary: It's Castiel's first Christmas in the bunker since he's started dating Dean. He wants everything to go perfectly. He uses Dean's computer to plan activities leading up to the perfect American Christmas. Things don't all go as planned.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AutumnSwitch](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSwitch/gifts).



> Written for [Destiel Advent Calendar 2016](http://destieladventcalendar.tumblr.com) on Tumblr.
> 
> Thank you @lacqueluster and [@jhoomwrites](http://archiveofourown.org/users/jhoom/pseuds/jhoom) on Tumblr for giving me ideas for this fic. I’m sorry I’ve perverted your traditions. I hope it’s good anyway.
> 
> I had several people read this over, so thank you to [@iwillloveallmyships](http://iwillloveallmyships.tumblr.com), [@fandom-trash-things](http://fandom-trash-things.tumblr.com),[@itscatastrophy](http://itscatastrophy.tumblr.com) and especially [AutumnSwitch](http://archiveofourown.org/users/AutumnSwitch/pseuds/AutumnSwitch), my alpha reader, Author's Note savior, and friend, for all their help.
> 
> The Lasabrjotur is a real thing. The incantation is not. I changed the lore for the story. Forgive me.
> 
> I’m not making real cookies. I looked at a “real” recipe, but uhm… it wasn’t for cookies.

November

Castiel slams the laptop closed when Dean walks into the entrance room of the bunker from the library. He looks up, guilty. It’s the day after Thanksgiving, and he has just one plan for the day, but Dean’s entrance has just called it to a halt.

Dean looks over and smiles as he brings Castiel a cup of hot chocolate. He kisses him on the top of his head before settling into a seat at the table next to his boyfriend. Boyfriends. Cas is still amazed. “It’s okay, Cas. You know that, right? I’m not going to be mad.”

Confused, Castiel’s eyebrows knit together, and his head tilts to the side. Why would Dean be angry that Castiel was looking up human holiday traditions? It’s been difficult, many of the traditions contradict with one another, and have changed over the centuries. Not to mention that the holiday celebrated as Christmas didn’t even happen in the winter.

Castiel has spent the better part of the day trying to figure out how to have a real, American Christmas. But that still didn’t explain what Dean would be trying to reassure him about. “What’s okay?”

Dean groans. “You’re not going to make me say it, are you?” Cas looks at him with a lost puppy expression on his face and Dean caves. “Porn, Cas. I don’t care if you look at porn.” Castiel opens his mouth to protest, but Dean cuts him off. “I told you, it’s okay. I mean it.” Castiel closes his mouth. “Just, maybe don’t try any of it with anyone else?” Dean’s smirk is playful, but the look in his eyes is uncertain.

“Of course, Dean,” is the only possible response to that.

Castiel doesn’t return to the computer. There will be time for that later, when it won’t ruin the surprise. Instead, he picks up a book from the table and rests his head on Dean’s shoulder while he reads.

December 1st

Castiel brings a three foot tall tree made of dyed feathers into the war room, setting it on its stand in the middle of the table. He spends hours meticulously arranging the candles and ornaments, until it looks like it would have in the 1930s when it was first brought to the bunker. He even imbues it with enough grace that the candles will stay lit, without catching anything on fire. It is absolutely beautiful.

Dean wanders through, a book in his hand. He just about gets out a “What you got there, Sunshine?” before he starts to sneeze. Castiel kisses Dean’s forehead, a much better way to heal Dean than laying two fingers there, and releases enough antihistamines into his bloodstream to last several hours. Neither of them seem to mind that the effect will have to be refreshed.

While the two men are enjoying the view over a mug of hot chocolate, Sam comes in to join them. “Oh wow! Is that tree made of goose feathers? I read about that tradition after finding out there was one of these in the bunker. They’re actually really interesting. They started in Germany because of deforestation.” Dean rolls his eyes, and Cas smiles at the brothers indulgently. “Apparently the one in the vaults is an import from the old country. A Holzleute made a home inside after her tree was cut down. When the original owner died, no one was leaving tributes anymore. It got angry and left all kinds of death and destruction in its wake until the Men of Letters had some hunters bring it here. Where did you even find one of these?”

Castiel catches Dean’s eye. Dean’s eyebrows raise in question. Cas pulls himself from Dean’s arms, picks up the tree, and returns it to storage. This time, the tree is labeled, and in an angel-crafted curse box.

December 4th

Since Cas started living at the bunker, it's become something of a habit for him to join Sam on his morning jogs between cases, leaving Dean to sleep in a little longer. They are halfway through their usual circuit when Castiel speaks up. “Sam, I need your assistance.”

Lacking angelic grace, Sam has to stop and let his breathing calm down before he can answer. Castiel waits patiently, watching Sam’s breath condense into little clouds in the cold late Fall air. “Of course, Cas. We’re family. Anything you need.”

“An Internet search has confirmed that it’s customary to exchange gifts for Christmas. I would like to purchase gifts for you and Dean this year.”

Sam’s smile is gentle as he starts to walk, letting his muscles cool down. “Cas, you don’t need to do that. I can count on one hand the number of people who’ve given me anything for Christmas. It’s not a big deal.”

Castiel inclines his head. “Nevertheless. Will you come shopping with me?”

He’s glad that Sam weighs the decision before answering. “Yeah. Yeah, Cas. Of course I’ll come if you want me to.” With that settled and the shopping trip set for the next day, barring any supernatural interference, they continue their jog.

December 5th

Dean is only too happy when Castiel announces that he and Sam are going shopping for Christmas gifts. He calls it “Brother-in-law Bonding Time,” trying hard not to laugh. He even lets them take the Impala into town.

Sam and Cas search several stores, but nothing seems to be exactly what Castiel would like for Dean, or even Sam. Sam finds a well weighted silver knife in an antique shop for his brother. Maintaining an edge on their silver has proved difficult, and they often need to be replaced. “We should really look into silver-plating steel knives,” he tells Castiel as they leave the boutique.

“That might be an effective solution,” he agrees, although the disappointment of not having found any gifts yet is apparent in his voice.

“Hey, we’ll find something perfect. I promise.”

Castiel shrugs. This Christmas thing has been more difficult than he thought.

Despite knowing that most New Age shops cater to fairy tales with lore that is, at best, fractured, the two decide to look in the local metaphysical shop. Sam heads straight to the books, on the off chance they will have an old volume or two he can look over. Castiel’s eye is caught by a series of charms. Pulling one in particular from the rack, he calls Sam over. “What did you find?” Sam asks.

“This will be your Christmas present from me, Sam. It’s a Lasabrjotur.”

“It’s a what now?” Sam looks both amused and confused.

“A Lasabrjotur. An Icelandic symbol. A lock breaker, actually. If you wear this and are bound or chained, you can place it on the lock or rope, and a simple incantation will release you. Your language skills surpass Dean’s, or I would purchase one for him as well.”

“Wow, Cas. What are the odds of finding something that powerful here?”

“It’s not terribly unreasonable. They’re selling it without the incantation. As with most things here, it’s only half correct. Is this an acceptable Christmas gift?”

Sam tries not to laugh. “It’s perfect, Cas. But, just so you know, it’s kind of traditional to keep the gift a secret until Christmas day. You know, wrap it up, and then the other person gets to open it.” Cas looks crestfallen. “But seriously, this is great. Because that means I get the protection now, instead of weeks from now, right? That can only be a good thing.” Castiel is not convinced, but he pays for the charm and the silver chain it comes on and gives it to Sam anyway. Perhaps he will have better luck shopping for Dean over the Internet, despite how difficult and untrustworthy he found the computer.

A Lasabrjotur

  


December 9th

Castiel spends most of the morning confined to the kitchen. Sam leaves him to his work, content to pop in from time to time and grab a piece of fruit from the bowl on the counter, smile, and head back out. Dean is a different story.

The first time he comes in, Castiel is covered with flour. Dean wipes a stray spot off Castiel’s face and plants a kiss there. “You wouldn’t be making a pie, now would you, Sunshine?”

Castiel smiles, leans into Dean’s mouth, and kisses him right back. “No, Dean.” He laughs at Dean’s pout. “It’s a surprise. Come back later.”

Dean leaves reluctantly and Castiel goes back to work, checking the recipe carefully. Not two minutes later, Dean is in the kitchen again. “It’s later, Cas. What’s the surprise?” Castiel narrows his eyes at his boyfriend.

“I’ve been informed that you shouldn’t share a surprise before it’s time.” This time, he has to push Dean gently out the door, the human laughing the whole way.

Dean stays away long enough for Castiel to start adding the wet ingredients: raw honey instead of sugar, sunflower oil for the butter, and some special vanilla from Madagascar.

Castiel is so busy mixing the ingredients he barely notices that Dean has come back in. He grabs the vanilla and smirks. “You adding alcohol to our pie?”

“It’s not pie, Dean. And there’s no alcohol in it. Both the alcohol and the vanilla beans come from Madagascar, the Bourbon Islands.” Castiel is about to launch a history lecture, but he’s too distracted when Dean pours some vanilla on the tips of his fingers, then reaches up and cradles Cas’s face in his hands. The next thing Cas knows, Dean is licking the vanilla extract from the pulse point behind his ear, and then some other more intimate places.

By the time Castiel gets back to cooking, he has something more akin to cookie soup than the chocolate chip he was trying to make. Somehow, neither he nor Dean seem to mind.

December 14th

The past couple of days have been hard on Sam and Dean. Only a few hours after the cookie incident, Sam had come looking for them with a case. Not everything had gone as well as the three had hoped, and two people had died before they were able to stop the wraith. If Sam hadn’t caught it’s reflection in a store window as it passed, there might have been even more fatalities.

Hoping to add some levity to the situation, Castiel carefully arranges a plastic faced doll in a red felt jumpsuit in the bathroom while Sam and Dean sleep. Despite what the Internet implies, the doll is not particularly pose-able. It takes several minutes before he has a passable tableau of the doll trying to brush its teeth with Dean’s toothbrush. He joins Dean in the bedroom and meditates until morning.

December 15th

To Castiel’s surprise, Dean doesn’t mention the doll all day. They go on about their regular chores and business, glad to have a few hours off between cases. Castiel even has time to check the progress of the gift he finally decided to have made for Dean, and it looks like it won’t be done for a few days, but it will be ready in time for him to add his own special touch. He makes his excuses and takes the Continental into town, returning with a package hidden in the backseat.

When he goes to collect the doll that night, it’s face down and on the opposite side of the sink. He takes it to the kitchen where he sets it up amid a sprinkling of flour. He slips out to the garage and puts the bakery bought pumpkin pie on the counter next to the decoration. On his way back to the bedroom, he sees the vanilla and pauses to open the bottle and smell the sweet fragrance.

December 16th

Instead of going for a run with Sam in the morning, Castiel waits for Dean to wake up, and follows him into the kitchen to see his reaction. Dean upturns an empty stew pot over the doll, covering as much of the flour mess as he can. But he does eat the pie for breakfast, so Castiel counts it as a success.

That night, Castiel thinks long and hard about where he can arrange the doll that the brothers will be sure to see it. Once Sam and Dean fall asleep, he sets the toy up in the library, propped up to the table on a stack of random books. He lays a book out in front of it, opening it to an arbitrary page. It takes a few tries before the old book will stay open without a weight to hold it down, but Cas manages.

December 17th

Often when there’s no case to work and they’re comfortable at home, Dean has a hard time waking up. So it’s no surprise when he hardly stirs in the morning while Castiel gets ready for his jog with Sam. The day is cool, but not terribly cold. It hardly matters to the angel anyway, but he enjoys the feeling of his vessel’s heart rate increasing when he isn’t using his grace to keep it low. The rhythm of feet hitting the pavement is meditative, and he enjoys having Sam setting the pace beside him.

Both men are surprised when they open the bunker’s entrance to find Dean running past them, carrying the stew pot from the day before. Thick black smoke rises from above the flicker of flames dancing inside. The smell of burning chemicals lingers from the bunker as he drops the toxic mess in the half melted snow. “Dean! What happened?” Castiel asks concerned.

Dean takes a deep breath of the fresh air. “That damned doll was possessed. It was reading a damned demon summoning spell. How did you not notice it? It’s been following us around for three days!” Castiel steps back, shock, disappointment, and regret fighting for control of his face. Hisses of contained laughter turn to full out gales of hilarity as Sam slides down the outer wall of the bunker.


	2. Chapter 2

December 19th

Castiel is at his wit’s end. All of his planned Christmas celebrations have ended in utter failure. The Winchesters have been more than understanding, but nothing has met his expectations, and the Internet is almost out of viable options.

But there’s one thing that he’s come across in much of his research: pictures of people braving the weather to sing outside. Sometimes they wear out of date clothes, and although there are plenty of old outfits in the bunker’s archives, Castiel reasons that it would be better to forgo the dated ensemble. This might be hard enough to get Dean to agree to.

Dean likes to pretend he doesn’t sing, but Castiel knows he’s willing to sing in the privacy of the shower, or if they’re in the car and he feels like Sam or Castiel need cheering up. He’s also been known to sing in bars, but only if he has the courage of a few strong drinks first. With that in mind, Castiel asks Dean to share a drink with him in the kitchen. Although Castiel can just about feel the burn of the amber liquid, it normally would do nothing to intoxicate him. He purposely allows himself to get tipsy, just so Dean doesn’t feel like he’s drinking alone.

When Castiel feels they both are sufficiently intoxicated, he asks Dean to come out with him. “But we got plenty a’ booze here, Cas. And it’s not like I’m gonna go cruisin’ for a date. You’re my Sunshine, Sunshine.” Dean only sloshes a little.

Sad puppy dog eyes coupled with Castiel’s gravelly “Please, Dean?” get him up on his feet. Dean protests the idea of zapping anywhere when he has a perfectly good car, and an angel who can sober him up, but Castiel overrules him and transports them to a city several miles away. Cas ushers Dean through the snow, humming some of the celebratory songs he learned as an angel. There was rarely enough time for singing, but he still knows many hymns of praise.

Dean leans against Castiel’s shoulder, a little awkwardly since they’re trying to walk at the same time. “’S pretty here, Cas.”

Castiel smiles, letting the alcohol affect his brain. “You should sing with me, Dean.”

Dean thinks about it for a long moment, his processing slowed by the cold and by the drink. Then he starts in on AC/DC’s “Snowballed.” Cas chuckles while Dean sings. When he’s finished, he starts them off on “Frosty the Snowman.” Dean sings along for a few bars, but they both trail off, not knowing much other than he’s a “jolly, happy soul.” Dean tries again with “Silent Night,” assuming, in his alcohol-ridden state, that Cas will almost certainly know that one. Neither one manages past the second line again. They try singing a few more songs. People on the street look at them with wide grins and sometimes laughter as they attempt to sing the Christmas favorites. No one knows that it’s their lack of Christmas history that keeps them from singing the whole song through every time. They assume they’re just a little drunk, and having a good time.

Their unexpected audience isn’t wrong on the last count. They’re both laughing when Dean pulls Castiel in for a kiss that warms him inside and out. Laughing, Dean drags them into an alley where they can continue their embrace out of the public eye. Instead, Castiel zaps them back to the bunker and washes the last of the alcohol from their systems. This has been a good night, and he wants them both fully aware for the rest of it.

December 21st

Growing ever more agitated, Castiel paces around the bunker with his hands full of cloth. Dean takes one look at his boyfriend and wraps his arms around him, but Castiel shrugs him off. “What’s wrong, Sunshine?”

“Where are we supposed to hang our socks to dry if there is no fireplace in this underground labyrinth?” Dean gives him a confused look. They don’t have a dryer, but they’ve got clothes lines. “There are several air vents,” Cas continues, oblivious. “I don’t understand why a fireplace wasn’t included in the floor plan. Also, how are the socks expected to grow to accommodate the various toys and candies? Surely even the youngest children can see the flaw in that logic, even if they still believe in Santa Claus. And why-?”

“Hey, hey, hey!” Dean cuts him off. “Whoa there, buddy. You okay?”

“I’m fine, Dean. I suppose there’s just much about this Christmas thing that I seem to be having a hard time with.” He looks so defeated, and Dean pulls him in close for a kiss.

“Christmas ain’t about the stockings, Cas. I mean, maybe for some people, but not for us, okay?”

Castiel is released from the tight hug and looks up at Dean. “I wanted to hang the stockings, Dean.”

Dean thinks for a second, then nods decisively. “Well, then you damn well go ahead and hang those stockings, Cas. I’ll help find a place. Come on.”

Leading the way to his brother’s room, Dean searches through the drawers before coming up with two pairs of socks. “I have socks,” Cas insists, but Dean takes them from his hands and replaces them with Sam’s.

“They’re the biggest,” he reasons. He grabs a hammer and some nails from a different room, and practically drags Castiel into the library. There, he nails three of the socks to one of the bookshelves, just below eye level.

“What the hell, Dean?” Sam’s voice breaks through their conspiracy.

Dean takes one look at Castiel’s sheepish expression before staring his brother down. Looking between the two, Sam quickly gets the message and backs off. “You still owe me two pair of socks,” he adds sullenly anyway.

A flying sock hits Sam in the face. “Consider this a down payment.” Dean grabs Castiel’s hand and pulls him back to their bedroom, where he kisses the worry off the angel’s face.

December 24th

Sam seems confused, but not concerned, when Castiel pulls him aside into one of the store-rooms. “What’s up, Cas?”

“I’m afraid I don’t seem to understand the significance of Christmas, Sam.”

“What do you mean?”

Picking at the corner of a shelving unit, Castiel refuses to raise his head to meet Sam’s eyes. “In all the media, Christmas is portrayed as a time of family and tradition. People talk about peace, and goodwill. And comfort and kindness. But whenever I try to participate in these traditions, I find things backfire.”

“Cas, you’re doing fine,” Sam tries to reassure him.

“My efforts are less than admirable,” he replies. His expression is generally muted, but anyone who has spent as long with him as Sam has can tell that Castiel is taking this pretty hard.

“Hey, your doing a great job,” Sam says earnestly. Castiel meets his eyes. “I mean it. Winchester Christmas traditions are pretty much just gifts from the gas station wrapped in day old newspapers, and maybe a bucket of Sandy’s Chicken To Go. I mean, Dean and I, we think it’s great that you want to go all out for Christmas. We do. But it’s kind of weird for us.”

“I’m an angel of the lord. It’s ‘kind of weird’ for me, too,” he says, making air quotes with his fingers.

Sam gives him a small smile. “You know, Cas, it’s not as bad as you think. I’ve seen you and Dean smile more in the last few weeks than I have in a long time. What you’re doing, it’s a good thing.”

“What about you, Sam?” Sam steps back a little in the confined space, shaking his head. “Dean and I share a bond, but, if I’m not being too presumptuous, you’re family, Sam. Are you… has this month been good for you, too?” His gravelly voice is full of awkward starts and stops, but his blue eyes are serious.

“Of course, Cas. I think we’ve needed something like this for a long time.” Castiel nods, raises his arms for a hug but thinks better of it. With a half a smile, Sam moves in and hugs him anyway, Castiel’s arms coming up around him awkwardly.

December 25th

Morning

Christmas dawns in the bunker without much fanfare. Instead of going for a run with Sam, Castiel sits in Dean’s bed, his back pressed against the headboard. He reads a book while Dean sleeps. Every once in awhile, he looks down at his boyfriend’s sleep-softened face and smiles.

About an hour later, he gets up and heads to the kitchen to make a pot of coffee and start on breakfast. Soon Dean’s alarm will wake him up, and Sam will wander into the kitchen right around the same time, back from his morning jog and a shower. It’s Dean who makes it into the kitchen first. He spares a smile for Cas, but the angel doesn’t try talking to him until he’s finished most of his first cup of coffee. “Merry Christmas, Dean,” he tries when he thinks the caffeine has done its job.

“Morning, Sunshine,” Dean says, reaching across the table to take Castiel’s hand in his. “Merry Christmas yourself.” Their eyes meet, and time seems to slow down. Dean runs his thumb over the back of Castiel’s hand, but otherwise no one moves as they just look into one another’s eyes.

“I thought you guys were going to stop that crap when you started dating,” Sam calls, coming in to pour his own cup of coffee.

Dean scoffs. “It ain’t my fault my boyfriend’s hot.” He gets up to grab some breakfast, elbowing Sam congenially while Sam makes a disgusted face. Castiel and Sam exchange their own “Merry Christmas’s” while Dean plates some of the waffles and bacon that Castiel left warming in the oven. He drops a kiss on the top of Castiel’s head when he comes back to sit down next to him. “So, any plans today?”

Castiel glances nervously at Sam, who nods reassurance. “I thought, maybe, if you would like, we could just have a quiet day. Watch ‘It’s a Wonderful Life,’ and ‘A Christmas Story,’ or maybe some of those Rankin Bass Christmas movies.” He watches Dean nervously, hoping he won’t pick up on his discomfort.

Dean smiles fondly at him. “I’d like that,” he says. This time, it’s Castiel who initiates the kiss. Sam groans with good humor, and Dean flips him off without breaking from Cas’s mouth.

December 25th

Afternoon

Somehow, Sam has set up the library as a movie theater. The pull-down screen is out, but instead of the old reel-to-reel, he has a digital projector connected to his laptop, and they’re set to stream Christmas classics. Dean supplies generous mugs of whipped cream covered hot chocolate and buttered and salted popcorn that Castiel helps him bring into the room. When everything is ready, Dean pulls his chair up close to Castiel’s and leans his head against Cas’s shoulder while they watch.

They’re a few hours in, and Dean is in a sleepy state of half aware contentment when Castiel pulls something from his pocket. It’s a tiny package wrapped sloppily in looseleaf paper. He places it in Dean’s lap without any fanfare.

He doesn’t look when Dean lifts his head, nor when he rips open the paper, but he can hear Dean’s gasp when the ring falls out. “Cas, is this what I think it is?” Sam’s head snaps up from the movie to watch his brother and best friend.

“Of course, Dean. It’s a simple weapon, but effective against many of the things we commonly encounter. The design is custom. The top half of the band is pure silver, the bottom pure iron. Inside the divot in the seam I’ve added a microscopic angel warding symbol, drawn in your blood. If even one drop of your blood gets on the seam between the two metals, it should filter to the symbol and activate the ward, driving off any of my brothers. Or me,” he adds as an afterthought. “If you choose to wear it, of course.”

Dean’s awe slowly fades to disappointment while Cas speaks. It’s Sam that speaks up. “Wow, that’s really thoughtful, Cas,” he says pointedly. Dean looks up, startled. “Can I see it, Dean?”

“No.” The look Sam shoots his brother is one of pure fury, whether it’s at Dean’s lack of gratitude, or his selfishness, or something else. “Thanks, Cas,” he manages to force out. “This is really… thanks.”

Castiel glances at Sam, confused. Sam’s nods in encouragement, inclining his head towards Dean. The angel takes a deep breath before speaking again. “It’s your decision,” he says quietly. “If you want to wear it or not. But if you do,” he pauses and Dean looks up, meeting his eyes. “If you want to wear my ring, may I put it on you?”

Dean searches Castiel’s eyes for answers while Sam watches expectantly. “Cas… are you asking me to… Is this a…?” Castiel knows Dean can’t quite form the sentence. He isn’t ready for it yet, and that’s okay.

“Dean Winchester, I’m asking if you’ll wear my ring, to protect you when I can’t be there. I’m asking for as much, or as little, as you’re willing to give me. For as long as you consent to give it.” From across the table, Sam gives them an unnoticed, watery smile. “We’ve been through much together, and if you agree, I would like to take on the future together as well.”

“Huh,” Dean says, as if it were nothing. He nods his head and turns back to the movie, the muscles in his jaw twitching a staccato rhythm. “That was some speech there, Cas. From now on, only action flicks on movie night, got it?”

Castiel composes himself. He sees Sam seething in the background, but raises a hand, asking him silently to hold off. “Of course, Dean,” he resigns.

“Well. Are you gonna’ put the damn ring on me, or what?” Castiel perks up and looks at Dean, who is watching him out of the corner of his eye. He hears Sam groaning in frustration as he drops down between Dean’s knees and takes the ring from between his fingers, then slides it home on the hunter’s left hand. “Get up here, Sunshine,” Dean says. Castiel lets himself be pulled in for a kiss.

They watch the rest of the movie in silence. Every time Cas tries to move back to his own chair, Dean holds him a little tighter. Sam thoughtfully doesn’t comment.

If this is what Christmas in the bunker is going to look like, Castiel could get used to it. Spending time with the family you’ve made, and a safe place to come back to. The other stuff is nice, sure. But this? This is home.


End file.
